Children of the Resurrection
by Lennelle
Summary: He's been wearing the same suit for four days straight. Outsider POV.


This story was written months ago for the spn summergen and I'm only now allowed to share it since the authors were revealed today. My recipient was brightly-lit who had a lot of great prompts. The one I chose asked for an outsider POV in which a teenage girl's brother is possessed by an angel. Don't worry, the Winchester brothers do show up, although I won't give too much away. I've never written an outsider POV before, mostly because I'm nervous that no one would be interested in reading about an original character. Hopefully you guys like it!

* * *

Danny doesn't put his seatbelt on. Danny, who washes his hands before _and_ after dinner just to be safe. While the rest of the neighbourhood kids are tempting fate on the train tracks, hop-scotching across only a second before the train comes screeching, Danny is at home. Danny is always at home, unless it's Sunday morning then you'll find him at church. He's a quiet kid, doesn't even have words to spare for the few friends he has, barely has much to spare for Mom or Dad.

The lack of seatbelt isn't the most un-Danny thing to happen recently. He's wearing his best clothes, the brown second-hand suit he saves especially for Sunday services, the one he hangs in a plastic bag in his closet. He's been wearing the suit for four days straight.

Candace glances at him out of the corner of her eye. He's sitting seatbelt-less, spine straight, hair still perfectly gelled and his suit still perfectly unwrinkled like he's been frozen in time since Sunday morning. He's staring out the window, watching the road rush by in a blur, head tilted with his ear pointed to the car roof.

Half an hour ago, Mom came stomping into Candace's room and thrust the car keys and twenty bucks into her hands. She was red in the face and frazzled as she said, "take your brother out for ice cream or something. Take your time."

Which means that Mom and Dad are in the midst of an epic fight right now. It must be pretty serious if Mom is willing to part with twenty dollars, considering they lived on packet noodles for the tail-end of last month.

Candace turns into the parking lot of the nearest ice cream place, a place called _Mr Whippyy!_ Maybe the extra _Y_ is for enthusiasm, or maybe they're asking the real questions: w _hy?_

Why does Candace have to be stuck with Danny? Why do her parents have to fight all the time? Why does Danny have to be so… _Danny?_

She parks the car, the engine letting out a grunt as it's cut off, the doors creaking as they open. Dad built this car from the ground up years ago, and he's rebuilt it a million times since then. It has no worth money-wise, but it has sentimental value. To Dad, at least. Candace thinks it's a piece of junk. She lets it know with a kick the front wheel, barely suppressing a yelp when she bruises her toes.

Danny is out of the car and peering at her over the roof, eyes narrowed.

"Are you upset?" he asks.

Candace rolls her eyes. "No shit, Sherlock," she says, marching for _Mr Whippyy!'s_ entrance without another glance back. In all honesty, Candace could have dumped Danny at movie – he'd probably have preferred sitting alone in the dark anyway – but she hates to admit she didn't want to be by herself.

Inside the parlour, Danny presses his face to the glass display, peering down at each flavour. Candace gets herself the same thing she always gets: mint choc chip and salted caramel with sprinkles. Danny hates it, made a real sour lemon face the one and only time he tried the it years ago. He always gets vanilla, nothing else.

She hands him his ice cream and he stares at it critically. There's a stack of paper hats that look like wafer cones sitting on the counter, Candace plucks one off and fixes it on top of Danny's head. She almost laughs - Danny in his hideous brown suit with a cone in his hand and another on top of his head – but she can't. Because Danny, as quiet and strange as he is, has always been okay talking to her, and these past few days he's barely said a word. She pulls him into one of the booths, plonks him down opposite her on the bright purple leather. She licks up a mouthful of sprinkles and watches Danny's vanilla dribble onto the table.

"You okay?" she asks, then leans closer to whisper, "Are you on drugs? I won't tell Mom and Dad, but if you tell me who gave them to you – "

"No," Danny says, then tilts his head again like he's listening for something. Candace listens, too, but there's nothing but the sound of the cashier dropping pennies on the floor with a curse.

Abruptly, Danny drops his ice cream on the table, the sticky vanilla splotching all over the surface, and he gets to his feet. Candace suddenly notices he has a knife in his hand, long and slender and shining silver. It looks like something you'd see in a movie or in a museum, and she's about to ask _where in the hell did you get that?_ but then three people come striding into the parlour.

They're a strange. The one in the middle looks like she came from the middle of a business meeting, one guy at her side is in hospital scrubs and the other's overalls are still covered in mud from whichever farm he came from.

The woman glances down to the knife in Danny's hand and says, "What use do you have of that? We only came to talk."

"I know you better than that, sister," says Danny, baring braced teeth. "Please consider the innocents in this place and allow me to walk free from here."

The woman's mouth curls. "You cannot stand idly by and let your family go to ruin. You're with us, or you're not."

Candace finally finds her voice. "Um. Excuse me."

All four of them turn to her and she suppresses the urge to go ducking under the table. She clears her throat and says, "Ma'am, I think you have my brother mistaken with someone else."

The woman's expression sours even further, if it's possible. "You let a monkey speak for you?" she asks Danny.

Danny's shoulders tense and he takes a single step forward. "I will not ask again. Let us walk free."

Candace is still a few steps behind, wondering how on earth her fifteen-year-old brother knows these people, and what on earth they could want from him, and she's only just realising someone called her a _monkey_ when all hell breaks loose.

The first thing that happens, and the first thing that Candace can be completely certain of, is that Danny shoves her back into the booth hard enough that she lands on her ass, then there are flashes of silver and the four of them descend into chaos. Danny is fifteen, undergrown, and skinnier than a twig, but he still holds his own against three people twice the size of him. He flits about with more grace than he ought to possess, blade slicing through the air fast enough to make it to sing.

The cashier has disappeared behind the counter, but Candace can hear him shrieking down the phone to the cops. Her first instinct would be to dive right into the fight and tear everyone off Danny's back, but she's too busy marvelling at the fact that he might actually be winning, judging by the farmer that's trying to pick himself up off the floor.

The business woman lunges at him and manages to get a good slice into his upper arm, and Danny cries out with the pain of it. Candace is too busy launching herself at the woman to notice that Danny is bleeding pure light.

She doesn't get far, is instantly caught around the wrist in an iron-tight grip.

"Stop, or I'll snap your chimp, piece by piece," the business woman threatens Danny, who's only just getting back up onto two feet. He stumbles forward a step, just enough for the woman to make good on her promise. The pain is enough to make Candace go to her knees, her vision fuzzing at the edges. She can still hear the sharp _crack_ ringing in her ears, can feel the agony of it shuddering up her arm.

Danny doesn't say anything, just lifts a bloody hand and smiles at her. At his feet is more blood, finger-painted into a strange shape. Danny drops back to his knees and slams his bloodied hand against the symbol and everything goes bright white.

* * *

Candace wakes up with an aching neck, her cheek mashed up against the glass as the rusted engine of their car grinds beneath her. She peels open an eye to nothing but dried out farmland rushing by the window. Sitting up jostles her hand only an inch, but just enough that tears well up in her eyes.

Danny is at the wheel, and, wordlessly, he steers the car off the road and into the dirt. The engine is still running as he leans forward. Candace can't help it, she leans away.

"Don't be afraid," says her brother, then he carefully cups his palm over her wrist and there's a gentle pressure welling up under her skin, warm and tingling. When he takes his hand away, the pain is gone and her wrist is straight rather than crooked.

"What did you do?" she asks, holding her newly healed hand to her chest. Maybe she'd be more freaked out if he weren't still wearing the ice cream cone hat.

He frowns at her. "Your wrist was broken in three places. I fixed it."

" _Who_ are you?" Candace tries again.

Danny turns back to face the road, hands still resting on the wheel. He says, "You wouldn't be able to pronounce my true name. You may call me Danny."

There's a lump lodging itself in Candace's throat and she's tempted to throw up all over the dashboard, but Dad would probably kill her if she did. She blinks rapidly, fending off tears, but some still find their way over her cheeks.

"No," she says, voice rasping. " _No._ You need to tell me what the hell is going on _now."_

Danny – whoever he is – is quiet for a moment before shifting the car back into gear and steering it back onto the road. They drive for a minute before he speaks again.

"I'm not your brother," he says.

Candace's knee-jerk response is to say _no shit, Sherlock_ , but when she opens her mouth only a tiny squeak comes out.

"I needed somewhere safe to hide and your brother agreed to let me in," he continues.

"You body-snatched my little brother?" Candace blurts. She's shuddering all over and her face is itchy with drying tears. She shakes her head, closing her eyes for a moment in the hopes that when she opens them again Danny will just be Danny. "Why him?" she asks. "He's just a kid. Why would aliens want a kid?"

"I'm not an alien," says Danny. He tilts his head thoughtfully. "Although, maybe I am, depending how you look at it. I am an angel of the lord."

That. That is not even in the same ball park of what Candace expected. She's never really believed in God, and certainly not angels, despite her family's beliefs. The logical answer to all of this is that Danny is having a psychotic break, or maybe he's hooked on drugs and the people at the ice cream parlour were some dealers he got on the bad side of. But she saw them vanish into thin air, she saw light brighter than she could imagine, she felt the shift of broken bone under her skin just because the creature inside her brother commanded it.

"An angel…" she repeats. "Like with wings and harps?"

"No harps," he says, then his face drops. "No wings anymore, either."

Candace takes a moment to process this, then the car jerks to the right and they rumble onto a backroad. "Where are we – "

"We need to hide," the angel says, with a tone in his voice that doesn't allow argument. "And I need a place to rest and heal."

The sleeve of his jacket is sliced open, the entire arm is a bloody mess. She wants to ask a million more questions, she wants to get out and run, she wants to grab Danny and shake him until the angel comes tumbling out, but she's not sure what more she can do than just sit and try not to go insane.

They find a diner that looks like it's seen better days a little way down the track. The parking lot is mostly deserted save for a great big beast of a black car.

"Why do you need to possess someone?" Candace asks as soon as they sit down in the booth farthest away from the only other customer. She grabs a few napkins from the stack next to the ketchup bottle and leans over to bunch them up against Danny's bleeding arm.

"My true form is overwhelming to humans," the angel explains. "And it's easier to hide inside a vessel. I had been wandering lost since the gates of heaven were closed, searching for somewhere safe. I found your brother in the church gardens and asked him for permission. Please understand that he asked for this."

Candace grits her teeth. "He's a dumb fifteen-year-old kid. He doesn't know what he wants."

"He's safe with me."

"Sure looks like it," she hisses, pressing the towels more firmly to the wound. She wants to punch the angel in the face, but it's wearing the face of her dumb little brother. It has his soft eyes and his dark mess of curls and his mouth full of braces. She wants to pull him into her chest and kiss the crown of his head just like Mom used to do when they were little and tripped over their own feet.

She bunches up the soaked napkins and tosses them onto the table, leaning close to part the ragged shirts for a better look at the wound.

"Can't you heal this?" she asks. "Like you healed me?"

The angel shakes his head. "The wound was made by an angel blade. It's designed to do damage. I need time to rest before I can attempt to heal it."

"Well, I'd appreciate you not getting my little brother into any more knife fights," Candace mutters.

A long shadow stretches across their table and she quickly spins around, grabbing a fork from the table and whipping it out. She nearly mashes the utensil into a man's crotch, but he manages to hop back a step. He's tall, dressed in too many layers for the hot weather, and his face is a strange mix of model-pretty and soldier-rough. Candace keeps the fork level, getting to her feet.

"You know," the guy says, "there's a story in the local news about a fight in an ice cream parlour a few miles from here. Apparently, three people attacked some kid, then vanished into thin air. And, in this day and age, people film _everything_ and put it on the internet."

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a cell, tapping the screen until it lights up. He holds it out to show a shaky video of Danny lunging at the business woman with a knife.

"You've got five thousand views already," the guy says. "What a coincidence that you two decided to waltz in here."

Candace blinks at him. "Wait. Who are you?"

"Dean Winchester," says the angel behind her. He stands up and nudges her aside until he's toe-to-toe with the man who's twice his size.

"Not an angel," Candace guesses, mostly based on the very human way he walks, not the elegant, straight-spined gait of every angel she's come across so far.

"Don't worry, Winchester," the angel says, "we haven't met before. The entire host of heaven knows you, though."

Dean rolls his eyes. "Okay, great," he says drily, then glances at Candace. "You're not in the God squad. How'd you end up with him?"

"He's my brother. Well, he's possessing my brother."

Dean looks at the angel again, finally seeming to realise just how much of a kid Danny is in his suit a size too big and that damn paper cone hat.

"A bit low going after children, don't you think," Dean says, mouth curling with distaste.

"He gave permission," the angel retorts, glaring up at him.

Dean's jaw twitches, and looks about ready to rip into the angel, but the door suddenly opens with a jingle and a guy even taller than Dean comes striding in. He stares at the three of them, brow wrinkled with confusion.

"Uh. What's going on?" he asks, stepping over to Dean's side.

Dean's eyes dart around, gaze not quite reaching that of the other guy. He says, "Got an angel issue, Sammy."

Sammy looks down at Candace and Danny, eyes taking the two of them with calculating intensity.

"He's the angel," Candace explains, pointing to her right where the angel is standing, _still_ wearing the ice cream cone hat, and narrowing his eyes at Sammy. She decides to ignore the sullen looks the three of them are passing around. "So, you two know about all this?" she asks Sammy and Dean.

"It's sort of our job," Sammy explains.

"Not that we get paid," Dean cuts in.

Sammy ignores him. "We hunt things. Monsters, ghosts, demons, whatever's causing trouble."

Candace is still processing _monsters, ghosts, demons_ but everyone else is already a few miles ahead of her. Sammy and Dean have stepped away a few paces and are having an argument, voices dropped low.

"They're kids, Dean," she hears Sammy say. "We can't just leave them."

"What can we do?" Dean counters. "We can't force the angel out. We shouldn't be getting involved, not when you're still recovering."

"I'm _fine,"_ Sammy insists. "And they need our help. Just look at them. What is with you, anyway?"

Dean is quiet, lips pressed together. Reluctantly, he nods. "Fine," he mutters. "You got a plan?"

Her attention is drawn away by the angel's looming presence at her side. He's staring at her, barely an inch of space separating them. The frustration and fear and anger finally comes bubbling to the surface as she shoves him as hard as she possibly can. The angel doesn't budge, just tilts his head and frowns at her, trying to put two and two together.

"You're upset," he concludes.

"Get away from me!" Candace yells, and the waitress behind the counter finally looks up from her phone and over to their group. Candace is one breath away from crying, and she won't let any of these strangers see. She runs straight for the restroom.

The room is empty, but she still huddles herself into a stall and locks the door. The sobs come out in a blubbering mess that has saliva stringing from her mouth, leaving her face a wet, puffy mess. She grabs a fistful of toilet paper and dabs it all over her face. She sits there trying to catch her breath for a good five minutes before deciding to brave the outside.

In the mirror, she's red-faced and her cheeks are streaked. She runs the tap and splashes cold water on her skin, then tucks her dark hair behind her ears. It takes a few more deep breaths before she can head back out into the diner.

Dean and the angel are gone, she can see the two of them standing awkwardly by the big black car in the parking lot. Sammy is sitting at a booth with a glass of water, which he hands to her as she takes the seat opposite.

"This is all… overwhelming," he says, smiling at her sympathetically. "I get it."

"You seem pretty adjusted," she answers. "You said you do this for a living?"

"Uh. Yeah."

"Didn't know monster hunting was a choice for college," she jokes, trying to steady her shaky hands by gripping the water-filled glass.

"You planning on going to college?" Sammy asks, like they're having any regular conversation.

"Too expensive."

"There are scholarships."

Candace sighs, finally looking up at him. "So, you and Dean, are you business partners?"

"He's my big brother," Sammy answers, glancing out the window to where Dean is rummaging through the trunk of their car. "We've been doing this as long as I can remember. Our dad used to teach us, growing up."

"Jesus," Candace breathes. "I can barely even handle one day of this."

Sammy shrugs. "It's not so bad. I've got my brother."

"Well," she says, rubbing at her nose with the back of her hand. "My little brother isn't exactly here right now. And that – that _angel_ , he just stands there like he has every right."

"Angels are like that," he explains, expression pinched. "Look, angels can't get into a person's body without getting permission first. Thing is, they'll do anything for a yes. When the angel's gone, your brother might be a little… he'll need time to adjust. Possession is – well, I can't really describe how terrible it is. I know you don't want to hear this, but I think you should be prepared."

"Sounds like you have first-hand knowledge."

Sammy looks down at where his hands are knotted together on the table. He smiles humourlessly. "More than my fair share."

She can see it now. He's not that old, maybe only just thirty, but there's something in his eyes that makes him look older. It's the same thing she's seen a lot in her uncle Tommy since he got back from Iraq. The war-worn look.

"Dean said you were recovering," she says.

"I was. I'm better now."

"Well, I'm sorry. For whatever happened," she tells him, and she means it.

Sammy blinks at her, mouth parted as if to say something. Instead, he clears his throat and nods, eyes wandering away from hers. Upon first meeting, Sammy and Dean came across like the kind of guys you wouldn't want to run into in a dark alley. They're huge, for one thing, and they have hard looks in their eyes that would warn most people off. But right now, Sammy just seems as damaged and afraid as everyone else, probably even more so.

"I never got your name," he finally says.

"Candace. My brother's called Danny."

He holds out his hand and she shakes it. "I'm Sam, that's my brother Dean," he says.

"Sam?" Candace repeats, unsure why this is the thing that sticks out to her. "Not Sammy?"

Sam lets out a short laugh. "No, just Sam."

She lets go of his hand and takes another sip of water. Outside, the sun is beginning to dip towards the horizon, splashing the sky with warm orange. It's been hours since Mom sent her out the house. She's probably called the cops by now. Candace pats her pockets, finds them empty. Her phone must have gotten lost in the chaos at the ice cream parlour.

Across from her, Sam leans closer to the window, shoulders tightening. He's up and out of the booth before she can even ask what's wrong. Hurrying for the door, he tosses, "stay here," over his shoulder. Candace turns to the window.

Danny looks ridiculous in his ice cream paper hat, knife in hand, only a child next to Dean's towering stance. A housewife minivan is rolling into the parking lot just as Sam reaches his brother, and out steps the same business woman from the ice cream parlour, the nurse on her tail.

Candace is already scrambling to her feet, making a dash for the door, but she comes crashing into the diner's waitress. She grabs Candace's upper arm and her eyes glow cool blue. Candace struggles, but it's futile against the angel's immovable strength.

She's dragged out of the diner, falling onto her knees at the bottom of the steps. The waitress yanks her back up to her feet and hooks an arm around her neck, squeezing just enough to make her yelp. There's a flash of light bright enough that Candace has to shield her eyes with her hand. Once her vision clears, she sees the nurse heaped on the ground with a neat, seared hole in his chest. Above him, Dean holds a silver blade identical to the one in the nurse's limp grasp, now dripping with blood.

The fight comes to an abrupt stop when they finally turn to see Candace in the waitress's grip.

"How lucky I am to come across the Winchesters," says the business woman. She smiles, the tip of her blade pointing threateningly at Danny's throat. "I know you had something to do with the fall."

Dean raises a hand placatingly. "That wasn't us."

The angel rolls her eyes. "Please," she spits. "It's _always_ you. The apocalypse, the Leviathan, and now the Fall. _You_ did this to us, I know it."

She traces the tip of her blade down until it's over Danny's heart. The waitress tightens her hold on Candace.

"Hey!" Dean snaps. "You're pissed at us? Fine. Just leave them alone."

"I don't think so. This one's a traitor," the angel replies, glaring at Danny. "As for the girl, I don't care."

"Please," Candace tries, but it barely comes out as a whisper, her neck caught under the pressure of the waitress's arm.

"I'm done talking," the business woman says, then she pulls back her arm and thrusts her knife straight into Danny, hard enough that the tip pokes out the other side. Candace doesn't know exactly what happens next, she's too busy screaming.

Out of the corner of her eye, Dean's arm swings and there's a flash of silver. Candace is shoved out of the way as the waitress makes a run for it, and she goes straight into the tarmac, the skin on her hands and knees burning.

When she manages to look up, the business woman is still flickering on the ground, the hilt of the blade sticking out of her chest. Across the lot, the waitress is dashing for the road. Candace doesn't see if she gets away, she's already stumbling onto her feet and limping over to where Danny is struggling to sit up. Dropping onto her knees, she takes his face in her hands. He's pale white and there's blood running from his nose and coating his teeth. When he looks up at her, his pupils are shining white.

"I'm sorry," the angel says. His mouth opens wide and more light comes swirling out, twisting in the wind and up into the sky. In other circumstances, it might have been beautiful, like light made liquid.

"No!" she cries after it. "You come back and fix this!"

It's already gone, swallowed up by the last of the sunlight. She quickly turns her attention back to her brother, who's blinking dazed brown eyes. Her hands are bloody and shaking as she tries to clamp them over the puncture. She jumps as someone's hand lands on her arm.

"It's just a shoulder wound," Dean says.

"He's _bleeding,"_ Candace sobs.

Dean sighs heavily and gets to his feet. "Zeke," he says.

Candace turns around, one hand curled tight in Danny's jacket to keep him upright. The moment she sees Sam's eyes light up cool blue, she stops breathing. She can't move a muscle as he straightens up and approaches, she doesn't have the energy to fight back as he crouches down and nudges her to the side.

Sam turns to Dean. "Are you sure?" he asks. The tone of his voice is rigid and cold, barely recognisable to what it was before. But this isn't Sam, just like Danny wasn't Danny. He glances at the two of them like they're an inconvenience. "I could be using my strength to heal your brother."

Dean's jaw clenches. "Fix him," he orders.

Sam turns and washes his hand over Danny's arm and shoulder, a warm light pulsing underneath. Danny sighs and closes his eyes, sinking into Candace's arms.

"He will be fine," Sam says to her, then he unsteadily stands back to his full height, returning to where he'd been a moment ago. His shoulders drop and his face melts from hard to soft. Like taking off a mask.

Candace looks at Dean, mouth hanging open. Dean just shakes his head.

* * *

So," Candace begins. She's leaning against the hood of Sam and Dean's car with Dean by her side. Bodies have been buried and little brothers are mostly back to normal. She wants to tend to Danny, but Dean had insisted they talk, which is why she's here rather than in their piece of junk car with her brother. She can see the top of Sam's head where he's crouched by Danny's side across the lot. "Your brother's an angel, too."

Dean sucks in a breath and says, "It's complicated."

"Is it?" Candace counters. "You know, earlier Sam was telling me that possession is the worst thing in the world. I wouldn't have thought he'd say yes to an angel."

"You can't tell him," Dean says.

Candace whips around. "He doesn't _know?"_

He glances over her shoulder, then back to her, eyes hard. "Sammy was sick. He was dying. He was going to _die_ , but an angel came. He said he'd fix Sam from the inside. If Sam finds out, he'll kick the angel out and he won't survive it. You have a little brother, you have to understand."

Candace isn't sure she does. She loves Danny more than she loves anything, even if she won't admit it sometimes. After today, all she knows is that she never wants anything to do with angels ever again. All she wanted was to get the angel out of her brother, but here's Dean, desperate to keep one inside of his.

"I won't tell," she decides. "I mean, I don't even know you guys. I just think you should be prepared for when he does find out. It's inevitable, you know."

Dean doesn't answer, just folds his arms over his chest and stares out over the stretch of fields.

"You should get your brother home," he finally says.

"Yeah," Candace agrees. She doesn't really want to think about what will happen when she gets home, she just wants to think about getting Danny tucked into bed. Mom and Dad can scream at her later. Tonight, she's too tired. She turns back to Dean and says, "No offense, but I hope we never see you again."

Dean chuckles. "None taken."

"Thanks for saving our skin, though."

He just smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "Look after your brother."

She pushes off where she'd been leaning against the rear of the car and makes her way over to where Sam is still talking quietly to Danny. She's hesitant to interrupt, but Sam sees her first. He pats Danny's knee and gets back to his feet.

He holds out a business card with 'FBI' stamped over a phone number. "If you need to call us," he explains.

Candace tucks it into her jeans pocket. "Thanks."

She stares at him, trying to figure out who exactly she's talking to right now. He seems thoroughly human, the way he hunches his shoulders, the warmth in his smile. If she looks hard enough, will she see the spark of something unhuman behind his eyes?

"We'd better get going," he says. "Take care of yourselves, okay?"

He pats her on the shoulder and heads towards his car. She turns to see Dean watching them both, shoulders tensed. She wants to say something, but she has no idea what she would say. _You've got an angel inside of you, by the way. You should tell your brother the truth. I'm sorry for whatever crap you've been through_.

Instead, she waves. Then, she climbs behind the wheel and turns the key three times before the engine starts up.

Danny has his jacket balled up, sandwiched between the window and his face, the ice cream hat is crumpled in the footwell. He's looking a little green, but more tired than anything. Candace takes his sweaty hand and squeezes.

"It'll be okay," she promises, even if she doesn't really know.

"Will it?" he asks, eyes drooping miserably. "The angel said it'd help. It said it'd look after you and Mom and Dad, but you got hurt."

Candace rubs her thumb across his knuckles. "I wasn't the one who got stabbed," she reminds him.

"I'm never going back to church," Danny whispers.

Candace pulls out of the parking lot, watching her brother out of the corner of his eye as he's jostled lightly on the bumpy road.

"That's okay," she says softly. "I don't think you'll be going to school tomorrow, either."

Danny begins to cry, trying his best to hide it in his bloodied church jacket. She takes one hand off the wheel and curls her fingers in his hair, hushing gently. The Winchesters' car rolls down the road behind them, she glances in the rear-view mirror but she can't make out either of their faces.

When they make it to the highway, Candace goes one way and the Winchesters go another.

* * *

I'm really happy I finally got to share this with you, and I'm extra eager to hear your thoughts!


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